Jenny Enochsson


All Dendrobates Azureus

Glorious greasy spoon so rare in this
slick aesthetic surgery époque when
luminous lion noses are corrected
and astral manes force-saturated

Augustine warms her hands against
the heated neon crunchiness
Beanpole’s drivel about a woman
who tasted licorice and cannonball
solid skin polished with grit 600
was she made of celluloid or
kaolin? Augustine asks

The town darkening outside
it is all dendrobates azureus
raven slumber on sandpaper roof
he is always ahead of their time
the alexandrite grows red
biotite dust jingle in lamp brass
during mellotron intermissions

The moon machine is coming down…


Tomato Frog Blues

The seat’s ferric oxide color seems
alarmingly authentically hemoglobinic
Augustine orders Bloody Mary of all
beverages in this bus terminal bar
thick juice like battery leakage sauce

Tomato frogs, says a poker face he
pushes a button by the brick basin
blue light rises underwater
like potassium nitrate smoke celery tops
hanging from Augustine’s mouth
artificial eutrophia several snub-nosed
red amphibians with bittersweet eyes

Magellanic clouds pass by invisibly
visions encapsulated in dwarf galaxies
frogs of lycopene larded blood plasma
melancholia nothing exclusively northern
just have to mention Summertime
she would love to be a balloonist
if it was not for all the hullabaloo

Steel buses in dung-like thaw
no one is burned at the stake anymore but
thumbs flatten out thrombocytes, occasionally.


Charlière

Räkel’s body in a convex mirror
he sighs with his nose over
the album’s androgynous pin-up who
everybody said he resembled once
lamp balancing on balcony parapet
dripping penetrates his porous pores

out on the sidewalk: asphalt rubber a bit
like resilient pyrope red chromosphere
expanding sun on Räkel’s thin
hair almost like fibered photosphere and
his velveteen drainpipes
are all the rage again

Charlière aerostat into cooling ether
naevus wanting to become nebula
cross section through solar flesh
jackdaws shake off the poison powder
in a fire glissando.


Jenny Enochsson is 34 years old and lives in Uppsala, Sweden. She has an MA in Ethnology and Folklore, but is currently reeducating herself to become a Swedish-English translator. Her poems have recently been published in ditch, and another piece will appear in the Spring issue of The Meadowland Review. For further information visit her personal blog Cinnamon and her collaborative poetry blog Flowers of Sulfur.

 
 
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